A Forgotten KNight
by redex
Summary: BaschReks. Hold this memory dear.


My second FFXII fic, written within days of the previous.

---

They were all drunk: high and a little self-destructive with the adrenaline of a win. They all would know, in the morning, that it was just another minor step against the rising tide of losses, but for now it was joy.

However, something in the Captain was - _off_. Reks had seen the messenger arrive and pass the note into the celebrating man's hands, and saw the expression that rivaled the joy for dominance. Now, there was a harsh, dead smile on the top layer of Basch's face, but it did not carry the same weight that it had before. He still cheered every toast, knocking mugs together as they passed, but there was an aura of tragedy around him that was unmissable to Reks' watching eye. To be truthful, there wasn't much that Reks _didn't_ see in regards to his captain. He just couldn't know enough.  
With that resolution in Reks' mind and the opposite in Basch's, it was inevitable that they would fall together.

And so, with the night well on its way to dawn, Reks drunkenly grabbed the front of the captain's nice white shirt and pressed their mouths together in a terrified imitation of a kiss - in front of _everyone_, not that they were paying any attention. What made Reks almost fall over was when Basch - his _captain_ - grabbed him around the waist and kissed him back.

"You're pretty; why haven't I noticed you before?"

Reks couldn't think of an answer other than a blush as he desperately tried not to get too hard as he was pressed up against a solid thigh.

Instead of answering, he merely shut his eyes, uttered a quick prayer to the gods, and pressed closer, putting to use all his meager skills in an attempt to draw the real Basch out from this polite shell. His kisses made the boy dizzy and he was still clinging to the fine linen shirt when he was _grabbed_ in a completely inappropriate place. It made him groan and grind forward against that hand because even if he _hadn't_ been inebriated, Reks wouldn't be able to stop now.

He's practically thrown off of Basch's lap and Reks' wrist was grabbed as he was dragged out of the tent and towards the captain's. It felt like the rest of the world was running on Slow and somehow the two men were invisible. And then Reks stumbled through the flaps of the crested doorway and was thrown down onto the pile of cushions that must have made up a seldom-used bed.

It hurt, but he soon forgot when Basch pressed down on him and stole all his breath for his own. He was whimpering with his every move, tossing his head back desperately as rough lips pressed down on an inexperienced throat and a soldier's hands held his hips in place.

He had known that this was the way it worked, known the mechanics of it, but had never really realized that this was what it _was_. It was so hot, so terrifying, through his drink-clouded mind, that he couldn't help but cry out every time he felt that hot bulge press through the layers of leather trousers to press against his own. The friction was maddening, but he still had the grace to blush as he whimpered, unable to meet the captain's eyes as he spread his legs just a little wider, the better to rest the whole of Basch's body between them.

Hands clinging to firm shoulders and hips lifting desperately off of the floor, Reks nearly sobbed as he came mind-blowingly hard. He was a teenage boy; of course it was quick. But better, much better than he had imagined it for so long. So much sweeter, and so much worse. Because even as sun-chapped lips pressed down on his own and fumbling hands worked to get his clothes off, he knew the captain would never remember, never ask, never give him a special smile just for his own. It was a pain he would just have to live with.

But this would be enough; would _have_ to be enough.

When the young volunteer soldier gave himself up to his captain completely, screaming gasps rising up through a canvas roof to the stars, he cherished every moment. He would trust this man with this piece of him. Would love him secretly in his heart, and do his very best to protect him. Would make himself worthy, so that if he died for this man he could know that he had not really died, but only lived on in faith. This was a man Reks wished he could be, for his brother if for no one else.

And he never fell asleep that night, when Basch passed out face-down in a pillow and his arm flung over Reks' naked chest. He just lay there, trying to preserve the moment in the present as it flew away into memory, then gathered his clothes to rush off to the soldier's tents before the captain woke up and questions arose.

He would remain anonymous.


End file.
